Rose DeWitt Bukater Before Titanic
by Bohemian Anne
Summary: Rose's life before she boarded the Titanic.
1. Chapter One

Chapter One

"Rose! Get down here!" Ruth yelled at the top of her lungs.

"I'm coming, Mother!" Rose yelled.

Rose finally came downstairs. "Oh, Rose, you look wonderful," Ruth told her. "Now...tonight you will meet Caledon Hockley. You have already met his father, Nathan. Tonight needs to go well so you can marry young Caledon. We need the money. Do you understand?"

Rose just nodded her head. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Rose was still scared. She had just turned seventeen years old.

*****

They finally reached the Hockleys' house. It was very large and beautiful.

"Come on in. The Hockleys are expecting you. Right in there," the maid said, as she pointed toward the sitting room.

"Ah...Mrs. DeWitt Bukater. Welcome. I figure this beautiful young lady is Rose," Nathan said, as he welcomed them in. "Rose...I'd like you to meet my son, Caledon."

Rose shook Cal's hand. Rose thought he looked very handsome. Maybe this was going to be the man of her dreams.

"Nice to meet you, Miss DeWitt Bukater," Cal said, as he shook Rose's hand.

Rose just smiled, and said, "Pleasure."

They all sat down in the dining room and waited for their dinner. As dinner was being served, Cal asked Rose, "How do you like Philadelphia so far, Rose? May I call you Rose?"

"Yes. You may. It's beautiful here. You have such a fantastic house here," Rose replied.

She hoped all went well the rest of the night!


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

It had been two weeks since Rose first met Caledon Hockley. She thought she might be falling in love with him. Now she was in his living room with his father and Rose's mother.

"So, we've come to an agreement," Cal's father said.

"Yes. We have," Ruth said. "Rose will marry Caledon."

Rose's head shot up. "What?" She looked over to Cal, who was smiling.

"Don't you want to marry me, Rose?" Cal asked.

"No. I mean, I really like you, but I'm only seventeen. I'm not ready to get married yet."

Cal shot her a dirty look, the first time he have ever been rude to Rose. "What do you mean, sweet pea?" Cal asked.

"Rose, you are marrying him. It's all settled. You two will marry on April twenty-seventh."

Rose smiled slightly. Cal's father than handed Cal the ring, and he put it on Rose's finger.

"It's overwhelming," Rose said.

Cal kissed her hand. "Thank you for making me the happiest man on earth, Rose," Cal said.

Rose sighed. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

Later That Night

Ruth and Nathan where discussing the wedding.

"Rose...would you like to come up to my room with me?" Cal asked.

"Sure," Rose said. She was getting tired of listening to her mother plan her wedding.

As they got up to his room, Cal started to kiss her. "Oh, Rose, make love to me," he said.

"Cal...I'm not ready for this. I want to remain a virgin until after we are married," Rose said, shaking.

 "You are my fiancée, and you'll do what you are told!" Cal said.

Rose got scared and tried to stop him, but he was so strong. She couldn't stop him.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Rose woke up the next morning in her own bed, thank God. She went downstairs to find Cal eating breakfast with her mother.

"Rose, you finally woke up," Ruth said.

"Sweet pea...you like to sleep late, don't you?" Cal asked.

Rose smiled at him. Remembering last night, her smile faded. He was not the man of her dreams. He was the man of her nightmares.

"I'm going for a walk, Mother," Rose said, and ran out the door, slamming it behind her.

She ran as fast as her legs could carry her. She ended up at a park. She lay down on the bench and started to cry. She hated her life. She hated Cal. She wasn't going to marry him. She just couldn't.

She heard footsteps behind her, and it was Cal. "Cal, please...leave me alone. I don't wish to speak to you right now," Rose said, sobbing.

"Rose...I'm sorry about last night. I'm sorry. But you have to understand, you're my fiancée now, and you must do what I say. Do you understand?" Cal asked.

"No. You don't control my life, Cal. You never will. I don't want to marry you. I..." She couldn't finish.

He slapped her across the face.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Rose walked out of the park beside Cal in silence, her thoughts turned inward. Though they passed other people, who nodded and greeted them, she barely noticed them, giving them only the most perfunctory of greetings. Cal looked at her in annoyance, but Rose ignored him.

The previous night had been terrible. Rose had followed Cal up to his rooms, unaware of what he had in mind, or of how inappropriate her actions were considered. There were rules for nearly every facet of high society life, but this was a situation she had never encountered before. She had known, of course, that she shouldn't go to a man's home and visit his rooms without a very good reason, but for the time being, she and her mother were living with the Hockleys. It simply hadn't occurred to her that it might be a bad idea to visit the rooms of her fiancé while she was a guest in his home.

She still didn't understand that her actions were viewed as inappropriate, but Cal did. Knowing how resistant she was to the idea of marriage—not just to him, but to any man at her young age—he had invited her upstairs, sensing her naiveté and counting upon either Rose's shame at what was going to happen, or the ensuing scandal, to get him what he wanted—Rose as his bride.

The DeWitt Bukaters were a highly respected family in Philadelphia society, even if they had fallen upon hard times in the past few years, though Cal doubted that Rose was aware of her family's precarious financial situation. He had not been fully aware of it, either, until Ruth had brought up the need for a proper marriage to one of the better men of society. The Hockleys were highly respected themselves, so such an alliance was not unusual, but he hadn't missed her covetous attention to the fine things the Hockleys owned, or to their lavish lifestyle. It hadn't taken much thought for him to discover Ruth's real motives.

There was little that went on around him that Cal missed. Over the years, he had grown adept at reading people, at discovering their motives, desires, and weak spots. This innate talent had served him well since he was a young boy, almost invariably netting him whatever he desired—be it some expensive toy as a child, the attentions of a girl as an adolescent, or a lucrative business deal as a man. Now, his sights were set on Rose.

In spite of the DeWitt Bukaters' questionable finances, Rose was considered one of the finest young ladies of Philadelphia high society, promising to bring her high status and family connections to whatever man she married. In spite of her youthful naiveté and the occasional hint of a wild streak, she was considered an ideal bride—young, beautiful, and possessing high status and important connections. It was for these reasons that Cal wanted her.

At thirty, he had passed the age at which many men married, and his father had been pressuring him to choose a bride and produce an heir. Cal had been in no hurry to marry—he preferred the freedom of being single—but he knew that his father was right. It was his duty to produce an heir for the Hockley empire. Still, he wanted the honor and status of having a family, of having a perfect wife and an heir, without the responsibility. His money afforded him the ability to go where he wanted and to do as he pleased, but he knew that a wife would expect more stability and a more respectable life.

Marrying a woman near his own age was out of the question. Unmarried women in their late twenties were considered to be old maids, the bloom of youth faded unused. A widow would expect more of him than he wished to give in terms of fidelity and respectability, and might bring with her children who would compete with his own offspring for power. And marriage to a divorcee was completely unacceptable. The scandal alone would taint his name for years to come.

A young bride, a new debutante, was the only answer. The carefully groomed young women of high society were highly desirable as brides, particularly those who were wealthy, well-connected, and beautiful. He had his pick of brides. More than one marriage-minded mother had pushed her daughter in his direction, dazzled by his high status and wealth, but it was Rose that had caught Cal's eye, Rose whose family finances were precarious enough to make her an easy catch. And she was young and beautiful, young enough to be charmed easily, and yet too young to know what to do if the marriage proved to be less than she had hoped.

Rose, however, had surprised him. She was beautiful, and charming, and well-connected, but she also possessed an independent streak that he had not expected. She didn't feel ready for marriage, though many young women her age were already married or engaged. Ruth had been adamant that Rose marry soon, and well, before her intelligent, independent daughter brought about trouble or caused a scandal. Rose's resistance had brought Cal to formulate his plan to shame her into the marriage, something he was sure Ruth would have approved of, inwardly at least, had she known.

But Rose was aware of none of this. She was shamed and humiliated, to be sure, but these emotions only made her more determined to get out of her engagement. Cal, for all that he had appeared charming, was not the man she had thought he was, and she had never wanted the engagement in the first place.

Last night had been the worst night of her life—worse even than the night she had learned that her father had died suddenly from a stroke. She had loved her father, but they had never been close, and though she had mourned him, his loss had not had such a profound effect on her as the betrayal of the trust she had put in Cal.

She had innocently followed Cal up to his rooms, wondering about the place where he spent much of his time when he was home. No one had commented on their departure, and even Spicer Lovejoy, Cal's valet, had made no move to follow them. Looking back, Rose realized that she should have been suspicious, but it had never occurred to her that Cal wanted to do more than show her his quarters.

It was only after they had gone inside his bedroom, and Cal had locked the door, both to keep them from being disturbed and to prevent Rose from escaping, that she became nervous. Something hadn't felt right, but she hadn't been sure of what it was. It was only when Cal began kissing her—kisses that were much more than she would have expected from a man she didn't know well—and asked her to make love with him, that she had understood why she was so uncomfortable.

She had told him no, protesting that she wanted to remain a virgin until she married, but her protests had only served to inflame him further. He had pushed her down on the bed, slapping her until her struggles ceased, and feverishly pushed her layers of clothing aside. Holding a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet, he had proceeded to force himself upon her.

Rose shuddered, remembering the tearing, stabbing pain of his invasion—a pain that, while it had eased somewhat, was still with her this morning. No amount of renewed struggling had stopped him, nor had her attempt to bite his hand and scream for help. And by the time he was finished, and had straightened her clothes and covered her shivering body with a blanket, there had been no use in crying out. What was done was done.

Rose had curled up into a ball and cried with pain and humiliation, while Cal, seemingly unconcerned, had gone into his study, pouring himself a brandy and ignoring her sobs. She had finally cried herself to sleep, awakening the next morning in her own bed, wearing her nightgown and showing no signs of the previous night's assault.

But the pain was still there, deep inside, and the slip she had worn the previous evening had been stained with her virgin's blood. There was no doubt that she had been violated, even though she had given no sign of what had happened to anyone else, even Trudy, the maid who helped her wash and dress.

Now, as they approached the sprawling, elegant Hockley mansion, Rose could think of only one thing—she had to get out of the engagement. She could not spend her life with a man who would force himself on her, long before the marriage itself took place. She glanced at Cal, showing no outward sign of how much she loathed him, thinking only of how she might break the engagement.

She had to get out of this situation, one way or another.


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

"Rose."

Ruth stood stiffly from the horsehair chair she had been sitting in while waiting for Rose to return home. Rose stopped in the parlor doorway, looking at her mother a little nervously.

"Come here."

Something in Ruth's tone warned Rose not to argue with her. She went inside, sitting in an uncomfortable, straight-backed chair across from her mother, feeling as though she were being interrogated.

"Mother, what is it? What's going on?"

"Rose..." Ruth's expression changed, growing stern and angry. "We need to talk."

"About what?"

Ruth crossed her arms, staring at her daughter. "You know very well what we need to discuss."

Rose's heart leaped. It must be the engagement to Cal that she wanted to discuss. Somehow, her mother must have found out what had happened. Breaking the engagement would be easier than she had thought. Even her mother wouldn't countenance such abuse.

"Oh, Mother—"

"Rose, I saw Cal carrying you out of his room last night," Ruth interrupted. "Your clothes were askew and your hair had fallen down. Don't pretend not to know what I'm talking about."

"I wouldn't dream of it. Mother, I'm so glad you found out—"

"After Cal had taken you to your room, I confronted him. He told me exactly what had happened, about how you had gone to his rooms with the intent of seducing him."

Rose's face paled. "Mother, no. It wasn't that way at all—"

"I saw you follow him upstairs, Rose. Don't lie to me."

"He said that he wanted to show me his rooms."

"That may have been. You will, after all, be living here after the wedding. But you, Rose, took it as an opportunity to dishonor a fine man, seducing him before the wedding so that you might accuse him of improper behavior, thereby making him look disreputable, and yourself unmarriageable. All this with no thought to our situation, or to the future of either of us. Do you want your reputation ruined, perhaps dragging our good name down with you? Because that is what will happen, Rose, if word should get out. I am well aware that you don't want this engagement, but it is a good match with Caledon. It will ensure our survival."

She paused, her eyes boring into Rose's until her daughter flinched and looked away. "Your plan to get out of this engagement by behaving like a hussy has failed miserably. Perhaps you could have found a way to break the engagement before—perhaps through mutual agreement with Cal, or through a whirlwind romance with another man of our class—but there is no chance of that now. A man expects his bride to be pure, and you no longer fit that description. No, you will marry Mr. Hockley, if only to protect your reputation. You're lucky that he's such an honorable man—he won't reveal what happened last night."

"An honorable man! Mother, do you have any idea what really happened last night? I never even thought about seducing him. He—"

"Not another word, Rose. I won't have you impugning the reputation of such a respected man." Ruth looked at her daughter contemptuously. Before Rose could say another word, she swept out of the room, her posture stiff and angry.

Rose started to stand, then fell back in her chair, her shoulders slumping in despair. Her mother knew, but she believed that Rose was responsible for what had happened. Ruth was so blinded by Cal's money and status that she wouldn't believe that he was capable of harming her daughter.

She turned her head at a movement in the doorway, her face paling further as she saw Cal standing there. His looked at her expressionlessly for a moment before slowly smiling, a triumphant look briefly crossing his face.

Rose could only stare back, her heart sinking further as she realized that he had planned the whole thing.


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

"Mother."

Ruth looked up as Rose walked into her sitting room, still dressed in an evening gown. The Hockleys had had guests to dinner that night, and Rose, of course, had been required to dress the part and act like a lady, no matter how she felt.

"What is it, Rose?" Ruth's voice was decidedly cool.

"I want to tell you what really happened last night. Now, while Cal is downstairs entertaining the guests."

"So that you can speak badly of him without him here to defend himself? Rose, I will not allow that." Ruth got to her feet. "Now, go back downstairs and be polite to the guests. You are soon to become Mrs. Caledon Hockley, and it will enhance his reputation to have a charming, pleasant fiancée."

"Mother, listen to me!" Rose lowered her voice, not wanting anyone else to hear. "I did not seduce Cal last night. Perhaps it was bad judgment for me to go to his rooms with him, but I never intended for anything to happen. The scheme was entirely his. Do you have any idea what he did to me, Mother?"

"Only what you wanted him to do, Rose."

"No! I didn't want him to do anything. He forced himself upon me!"

Ruth slapped her, furious that Rose was still speaking badly of Cal. She had thought the issue was settled that morning, but apparently Rose needed more convincing.

"How dare you impugn such a gentleman, Rose? He is what you—what this family—needs. He has the wealth and status necessary for a lady of your class. You're just lucky that you've found a suitable husband."

Rose shook her head, her hand against her stinging cheek. Ruth's slap had hurt worse than Cal's, perhaps because she had expected sympathy from her mother and found only condemnation.

"Mother, please. I can't do this. I can't marry him. Please let me end the engagement. We'll think of some suitable excuse—we found ourselves incompatible, or some such. But I can't—won't—marry Cal."

Rose looked Ruth right in the eye, firm in her stance against the marriage. Ruth stared at her for a moment, then took her seat again, gesturing for Rose to sit across from her. Rose sank down onto the chair, hope momentarily in her heart.

Ruth's words, however, dashed that hope. "I can see that I haven't informed you well enough of our situation, Rose. We have no money left. That is why we are staying here with the Hockleys, rather than in our own home. I was forced to rent our house out in order to make ends meet."

"Mother...surely it can't be that bad. There must be some money left."

"No, Rose, there isn't, or I would never have rented our home to new money."

"Surely they pay enough for us to live comfortably."

"Comfortably? Perhaps, Rose, but we would lose our status, lose everything that makes us who we are. Debts are coming due, and in order to pay them, we would have to sell our fine things at auction. Everything that matters to us would be gone." When Rose opened her mouth to speak, Ruth interrupted her. "Your father left us nothing but a legacy of bad debts covered by a good name. That name is the only card we have to play. And you, Rose, are doing your best to destroy that good name. Do you really think that any other man will want you after this?"

"I wasn't to blame, and it doesn't show on the outside. He wouldn't have to know."

"He'd find out, Rose. Trust me on that."

"Surely there must be some way—"

"Rose, this discussion is at an end. You _will_ marry Caledon. You have no choice, not only because of our financial situation, but because of your behavior last night."

"Mother, please..."

"We are not going to speak of this again. And you will not mention it to anyone, or I will make you sorry, Rose. Very sorry."

Rose stared at her mother, her eyes filling with tears. Ruth never made idle threats, and her punishments, as Rose knew from past experience, were something she wanted to avoid at all costs. She truly would be sorry if she defied Ruth's orders.

"Don't cry, Rose. You'll ruin your makeup and leave your eyes red. You have nothing to cry about, anyway. You got yourself into this. Now, the wedding will take place as planned, but we are first taking a tour of Europe."

"I thought we didn't have any money."

"Since it is your engagement trip, Cal will be paying for it. Of course, I will go along as your chaperone—which it is obvious you need."

Rose shook her head, trying one last time to dissuade Ruth. "Mother, no..."

"Rose, I said this discussion was at an end. Do not contradict me. We will be setting sail on the Mauretania one week from today. Cal was going to surprise you with the trip, but I explained to him that you really needed to know ahead of time so that you could purchase a suitable wardrobe before the trip. You will be buying your wedding gown and trousseau in Europe. Then, Mr. Hockley has something especially enjoyable in mind—we will sail home on the maiden voyage of the Titanic, the grandest ship in all history." Ruth smiled, pleased.

Rose felt a sick, sinking sensation inside. Ruth was using her to pay for all of these fine things, these luxuries. And Rose would continue to pay...and pay...and pay...for the rest of her life. Divorce simply wasn't done, and Rose was being given no say in the matter of the marriage. She was collateral, something to be sold in place of all the fine things her mother couldn't bear to part with. All of those luxury items, those things that Ruth had once discarded and replaced on a whim, were worth more to her than Rose.

And there was no way to escape, nothing that she could do. If she left Cal, her reputation would be ruined. She had nowhere to go, no idea what she might do without the marriage. There was nothing left.

Blinking back her tears, Rose raised her chin and stood. They could lock her away in a golden cage, but she wouldn't be broken. She would try to find the good in her situation, and live for that. She would be strong, pushing away the hurt, until it no longer mattered. She wasn't Ruth's daughter for nothing; with time, she could become as icy and unfeeling as her mother. It was the only way to live the life that had been chosen for her. Without strength, it would destroy her.

"I will be rejoining the guests now, Mother," Rose told Ruth, walking toward the door, her back as stiff and as straight as it could be. No one would be able to guess what had happened. She would put on a cheerful face, be the ideal hostess. It was only an act, after all—and Rose had often wished that she could be an actress. This might be the only way she would ever fulfill that dream.

"Behave yourself, Rose. Don't cross me on this. You know why."

"Yes, Mother, I know." Rose left the room, her jaw set, and slowly made her way back down the stairs.


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

March 1, 1912

Rose stood between Ruth and Cal, looking up at the Mauritania. It was a beautiful ship, she had to admit, but now she wished that she were anywhere else.

In the past, Rose had longed to go to Europe, but parents rarely brought their children along on their trips overseas, so she had always had to stay behind in the care of her nursemaid or governess. When she had grown older, and her parents would have allowed her to accompany them, her father had been too ill to travel, and then he had died. It would have been improper to set off on a trip so soon after a death in the family—they were supposed to be in mourning, though Rose doubted that her mother had truly mourned much. It was still too soon for the two of them to set off on such a trip, but Rose's engagement to Cal was the perfect excuse to come out of mourning.

Now, however, Rose wished that the trip had never been planned. _She_ was still mourning her father, even if her mother couldn't wait to forget him, and she wanted no part of the trip or of her engagement to Cal.

Rose had argued to her mother that it was improper to go on the trip to Europe less than a year after her father's death, but Ruth had informed her that an engagement was a happy occasion, one to be celebrated, and that she was a fine one to talk about things being proper or improper. They were going, and Rose would be cheerful and enjoy the trip—or at least pretend to, whether she felt like it or not. Ruth would allow no further argument on the subject.

And so Rose walked up the gangway beside Cal, her mother close behind them, with the three servants who were accompanying them following. Their luggage—which included expensive new wardrobes for both Ruth and Rose—had already been put on board by the baggage handlers, with the maids, Trudy and Sophie, carrying those items too delicate or valuable to be entrusted to someone else.

Rose's arm was linked with Cal's, feeling as though it were chained to him. The engagement ring was heavy on her left hand, even with the gaudy diamonds hidden beneath her glove. Her elegant gray suit fit her corseted figure tightly, allowing no room to relax or breathe deeply, and the fashionable hobble skirt required her to take tiny, mincing steps.

At least the color matched how she felt, she thought, as Cal presented their tickets and a steward showed them to their rooms. They had taken three rooms, with separate quarters for the servants. Rose's heart dropped when she realized that her room was right next to Cal's, and then pounded wildly in fear as she saw that the rooms were joined. Her mother's room was next door to Cal's, but was not adjoining. Rose was at Cal's mercy.

As Rose stared at the door that joined their rooms, she wished desperately that there was a way to lock him out—but he had the key, and she did not. If only there was less space, or money, and she had to share her room with Trudy—Cal wouldn't dare approach her with her maid present. But she was alone in her room, with no one to come to her defense, and if she tried to speak out against Cal, she would only be accused of inappropriate behavior—for why would such a well-respected gentleman take a lady against her will?

Maybe, Rose thought desperately, the adjoining rooms were just a coincidence, and Cal had no intention of coming to her room late at night. But as Cal stepped into her room, ostensibly to make sure she was comfortable, and looked meaningfully between her and the door joining their rooms, she knew that she would already be paying for this trip, whether she liked it or not.


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

April 1, 1912

Rose picked at her breakfast, unable to squelch the queasiness that had plagued her every morning for the past two and a half weeks. She felt tired all the time, and sick and listless in the mornings, but neither her mother nor Cal had noticed. If they did, they would undoubtedly reprimand her for overeating at dinner the night before—she made up for her lack of appetite in the morning by eating ravenously at dinner, something no proper lady did. Only Trudy had noticed, and she could do nothing. A maid did not give advice to the lady she served, no matter how sorely that advice was needed. Rose didn't know what was wrong, and wished that she could talk to someone about it, but there was no one.

Cal looked across the table at her, watching as she nibbled cautiously on a piece of toast. He had come to her bed again the night before, as he had almost every night on this trip, in spite of her objections. Rose had come up with every excuse she could think of—she had a headache, she was too tired, it was her time of month—but only the last excuse had put him off. She wished that she could use that excuse more often, but Cal undoubtedly knew how women's bodies worked, and would slap her for lying to him. It hadn't really been her time of month when she had made that excuse, either, and she wondered what she would do when it really happened.

At least it didn't hurt anymore, Rose thought glumly, staring at the fried eggs before her. It had only been painful the first time, but she still detested Cal's nightly visits to her bed. He considered it to be her payment for all the expensive things he had bought her, for the lavish trip, for the marriage they would enter into soon after returning home.

The whole trip had been an endless shopping spree, with Cal and Ruth selecting clothing and jewelry for Rose's trousseau, along with an exquisite French wedding gown. The problem, as far as Rose was concerned, was that she had never been given any say in the matter. It never mattered what she wanted, what she thought would be suitable—Ruth and Cal made all of those decisions for her—even though she was the one who was paying for it every night. Ruth, too, had purchased a lavish new wardrobe, although she had just spent a great deal of money for new clothes in the United States. But, of course, it wouldn't do to wear old clothes on a trip on the most luxurious ship in the world. Rose couldn't forget that, even if she wanted to. It was her duty to make sure that her mother was able to continue the lifestyle she was accustomed to, no matter what the cost.

There had been other amusements, of course. Many of the elite were enjoying a season in Europe, so there had been countless parties and cotillions, yachts and polo matches, always with the same crowd, always with the same stultifying conversation, until Rose was ready to run screaming through the streets. But where could she run to? They had visited the great cities of Europe—Paris, Madrid, Rome, Berlin, London—but she had been given very few chances to see any of the famous sights. It had been the thought of those sights, of seeing something new and exciting, that had allowed her to tolerate the trip and Cal's smothering, controlling affections, but even those pleasures had been denied her. She had seen the Eiffel Tower and some of the great palaces and estates, but aside from that, Ruth and Cal were uninterested in exploring, and would never allow her to go about on her own.

And always, always, there was Cal. Ruth beamed with pride when she saw Rose on Cal's arm, and Cal showed her off at every event as though she were a prize racehorse. Except for when she went shopping with her mother, or when the men retreated to smoke, drink brandy, and discuss business and politics—something she, as a female, was supposed to have no knowledge of or interest in—he was at her side, or nearby, watching her constantly, his gaze never missing the slightest transgression, real or imagined. She was his fiancée, soon to be his wife, and he would tolerate no misbehavior from her, no flirting with other men or doing anything the least bit unladylike.

Slowly but surely, Ruth and Cal were suffocating her, putting out the fire inside her. She did her best to appear happy, to appear the devoted daughter and fiancée, but inside she had begun to retreat from them, finding small ways to defy them, to wipe the self-satisfied smiles from their faces. All of the expensive clothes, the lavish trappings of the society she had grown up in, and which her mother was determined to remain a part of, meant nothing to her. Day by day, she felt her world closing in around her, smothering her, and no one noticed or cared, too wrapped up in themselves and their own social climbing to give the slightest notice to an unhappy debutante.

In ten days, they would be setting out for home on the maiden voyage of the world's most luxurious ship, the Titanic. The thought gave her no pleasure. She would return home with the same people that she had seen in Europe, enduring more of the same mindless conversation and dull parties—and when they reached home, she would marry Cal and be bound to him forever.

It was the life that had been chosen for her, that had been set out for her from the day she was born, and there was no way of escaping it.

None at all.


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

April 10, 1912

Rose sat beside Cal as the Daimler-Benz moved through the streets of Southampton, where they had spent the last night of their trip before boarding the Titanic to return to America. She didn't look at him, keeping her gaze fixed on the window, staring out at the city.

Today they would board the ship that would take them home to America. The thought made her shudder. Soon they would be home. Then, they would host their engagement gala, followed by the social whirl associated with high society weddings—and then she would marry Cal, and be bound to him forever.

She looked up as the car came to a stop, the driver honking the horn to clear a path for the vehicle. A moment later, someone opened her door and extended a hand to help her out. She stepped out daintily, looking up at the ship before her, tilting her head back to see beyond the brim of her oversized hat.

It was a magnificent ship, she had to admit. The newspapers had called it the ship of dreams—and it was. But as Cal stepped out of the car to stand beside her, she only turned to him and remarked, "I don't see what all the fuss is about. It doesn't look any bigger than the Mauritania."

Cal scowled at her slightly. "Rose, you can be blasé about some things, but not about Titanic. It's over a hundred feet longer than the Mauritania, and far more luxurious." He turned to Ruth. "Your daughter is far too difficult to impress."

Ruth had emerged from the other car and was standing with them. "So this is the ship they say is unsinkable."

"It is unsinkable," Cal declared, as proud as if he had built it himself. "God himself could not sink this ship."

Rose smiled slightly as his bragging was interrupted by a porter. "Sir, you have to check your baggage through the main terminal. It's over that way, sir."

Cal pulled a five pound note from his pocket and handed it to the man. "I put it in your good hands, sir. Kindly see my man about it." He gestured to Lovejoy.

Ruth frowned slightly at Rose as Cal rejoined them, warning her to behave herself. Rose looked away, looking up at the ship once more, trying to hide her churning emotions.

Was it any wonder she was irritable? She hadn't even been allowed to choose her own outfit for boarding the ship. The attractive black dress she had chosen had scandalized both Ruth and Cal the moment she appeared. No one wore black to board a ship. It was supposed to be bad luck, although in this day and age of science and technology, she wondered if they really believed that. More likely, they had been upset that she would flout the rules of appropriate attire. Well, she had felt like wearing black. Why shouldn't she? She felt as though she were going to her own funeral, screaming all the time that she was alive while no one listened. What could she do, beyond defying the rules set out for her?

Rose covered her nose delicately with her gloved hand as the rank smells of the pier made her stomach churn. She allowed Cal to take her arm and lead her up the boarding ramp, hoping that she would feel better once she was on board—or at least that if she didn't, she could blame her malady on seasickness. The queasiness she had felt each morning for almost a month now continued unabated, and now she knew why.

Three days earlier, a fainting spell had resulted in a visit from the hotel doctor. He had examined her thoroughly, asking questions that had made her turn red with embarrassment, but when he had told her what was wrong with her, she had begged him not to give his diagnosis to her mother and Cal. She had slipped him a twenty pound note to ensure his silence, and then he had told them that she was simply overtired, that there had been too much excitement for her recently. He had recommended plenty of rest, giving her a reprieve from the endless social whirl of their last few days in Europe.

Rose had told no one what she had learned from the doctor. They would find out soon enough, and she would face the consequences then. She was already with child. No one would know about it when she walked down the aisle—she would only be two months along, and she could probably hide it for several months with her corset. But after that…

Cal would have to be told, of course, although common sense told her to wait until after the wedding, so that he couldn't use it as an excuse to call it off. Not that he would, but she had to be sure to avoid any hint of scandal, for the sake of the DeWitt Bukater name and for herself and her unborn child. Ruth would be furious, of course, but if the baby was small, they could claim that it was born early.

Still, no one close to her would forget that she had become pregnant out of wedlock. Ruth would blame her, and no amount of arguing would change her mind. As far as Ruth was concerned, Rose had seduced Cal that night in Philadelphia, and thus the pregnancy was her fault. Rose had never wanted to sleep with him, not even after the wedding—but Cal would never admit that he had forced himself upon her, and Ruth would never believe her when she said he had, nor would she believe that Cal had visited her bed almost every night of this trip.

They stopped as they stood in line, waiting to board the ship. Rose looked again at the huge, luxurious ship—the epitome of wealth and luxury of their time. It was the ship of dreams to everyone else, but to her it was a slave ship, taking her back to America in chains. Outwardly, she was everything a well brought up girl should be—but inside she was screaming.

As they moved forward again, Rose turned her head, looking out over Southampton. Her eyes lit on two figures bursting out the door of a nearby pub, running in the direction of the soon-to-depart ship. Obviously, they had waited until the last minute to board.

She watched them a moment longer, envying their freedom. What luxury, to be able to come and go as one pleased, to not have to worry about what society would think of one's behavior. If only she could be so free.

Cal tugged on her arm, and they moved forward, the open gangway door swallowing them as they stepped inside. Rose's face was set, her eyes distant. This was her life, and there was no changing it. Perhaps there had been a chance once, but no longer. The child inside her bound her to this life more surely than any vows ever would. She would return to America, marry Cal, and bear and raise her child in the same society in which she had grown up. She had no choice, for no one would let her break free.

No one she knew.

The End.


End file.
